


Cooking

by By My Pen (KatyK1476)



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-27
Updated: 2014-03-27
Packaged: 2018-01-17 04:09:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1373419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KatyK1476/pseuds/By%20My%20Pen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lady Sybil Crawley has been spending time in the kitchens of Downton Abbey, learning some basic cooking skills. Tom Branson, the chauffeur, can't resist a little light-hearted teasing. Humour ensues...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"Everyone knows that," Sybil replied, only scoffing slightly. The shrieks and spray of water showed how wrong Sybil's statement was and how right Mrs Patmore's next comment was.

"Not everyone apparently," Mrs Patmore laughed. Sybil turned to her a little sheepishly. A chuckle from behind Sybil had her spinning to face it. Branson stood there, his smirk reaching to his eyes and filling them with mirth to the brim.

"I think the appropriate saying here, milady, is 'pride comes before the fall'," he said, laughter in his voice. The kitchen maids giggled; they were all quite taken with the handsome Irish chauffeur and often laughed a little harder than necessary. Sybil put her hands on her hips indignantly.

"Thank you for your opinion, Mr Branson," she said with mock-haughtiness, "what business have you in the kitchen?"

His smirk no lessened, Branson shrugged and put his hands in his pockets. "Well I had some spare time and I came looking for some amusement," if it were possible, his smirk grew, "and I found you, milady."

Thankfully the kitchen maids had moved onto something else by now and Daisy was busy clearing up Sybil's mess because the pair had quickly fallen into their easy familiarity that they usually only used when in the car, alone. Nothing escaped Mrs Patmore however and she wondered at what could almost be called flirting, were it merely a kitchen maid and the chauffeur. She said nothing; though she may have raised her eyebrows.

"So what you're saying is, you are simply here to poke fun at me?" Sybil replied with mild contempt.

"Well it wasn't my precise plan, no," he leant back onto Mrs Patmore's writing table, "but now you mention it, it sounds like an excellent idea."

Sybil's mouth twitched. She couldn't help but be amused – Branson's smiles tended to be infectious – but she was determined not to give him the satisfaction of a returning smile.

She put back on the mock-haughtiness then and turned back to the sink. "Well I shan't be deterred. Laugh all you like Branson but I am learning a useful skill. Mrs Patmore, how might I do this so that we don't all get wet again?" The second time was far more successful and, despite Branson's many chuckles, she managed many of the tasks at the second or third try under Mrs Patmore's careful instruction.

* * *

The lessons continued over the next few days whenever Sybil was available and Mrs Patmore could spare a moment. She enjoyed it immensely, even though the kitchen maids found endless things to giggle at and, of course, Branson always managed to find a spare moment or two in which to tease her.

"What are you making there, your Ladyship?" he enquired innocently on one such occasion, leaning over her shoulder to look into the pot she was stirring. Sybil couldn't quite see what his angle was but she knew he must have one so she answered cautiously.

"Just some gravy, for dinner," she looked up at him sharply, "is that quite alright, nosy?"

Branson's eyes overflowed with merriment but the rest of his face was carefully schooled. He looked down into the pot again.

"Gravy? Really? Hmm." And with that he left, whistling away with his hands in his pockets.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Sybil called after him, suddenly worried, "Branson? What on earth do you mean? What's the matter with it?" He just kept walking, with merely a glance over his shoulder at her, face clearly close to erupting with laughter. Sybil grabbed Daisy as she hurried by, trying not to draw Mrs Patmore's attention.

"Daisy! You have to help me! What's wrong with this gravy?" she whispered urgently.

Daisy looked into the pot and gave it a stir. "Nothing, milady. It's just fine." Realisation and relief washed over Sybil.  _He was just trying to wind me up_ , she thought. Abruptly, she turned to Daisy once again.

"Daisy, could I ask you to watch this for a moment? I just need to do something quickly," she asked.

"Of course, milady," Daisy looked confused, but she knew better than to ask questions. Sybil quickly thanked her and turned to the direction of the servants hall. If he wasn't there, she'd leave it for later, but she suspected he wouldn't have strayed far from a chance to laugh at her when he had time on his hands.

She was right; Branson was sitting at the table with a cup of tea and a partially folded newspaper on the table in front of him. The only other person in the hall was Anna, sitting across the table from him. She made to get up when she saw Sybil, but the lady put a finger to her lips and motioned for her to stay put. Then she grabbed Branson's newspaper and folded it once more.

When she first took it, Branson looked up in confusion and irritation but when he saw it was Sybil, he grinned. Spurred on by the grin, wishing to swipe it from his face, Sybil rapped him gently on the head with her makeshift weapon of folded newspaper. His expression changed then to one of mock-astonishment, demanding an explanation, yet already knowing it. She leaned forward slightly, her eyes never leaving his.

"There's nothing wrong with the gravy," she said softly, slapping the newspaper back down on the table. She then turned and stalked off back to the kitchen. For a moment, Branson sat staring after her, blinking. Then his grin slowly returned to it's former glory until a slight laugh couldn't help but bubble up.

"You seem to be in trouble for your latest trick, Mr Branson," Anna stated. He couldn't tell from her voice what she thought but he knew she was telling him that she too had noticed the close nature of their relationship. With Sybil being down here so often and Branson so unable to withhold  _all_ his teasing, there were few who hadn't.


	2. Chapter 2

Tom wandered through the kitchen with his cup of tea, looking for a spare biscuit or whatever other morsel he could beg off Mrs Patmore. His quest was immediately forgotten, however, when he noticed Lady Sybil and heard her delicious laugh.

He was about to stop and utilise the opportunity to tease when he noticed two things; one, the look of beaming pride she wore as she decorated her cake that Tom couldn't bring himself to shatter; and two, he saw Lady Grantham watching through the window to the hallway. He didn't mind being a little obvious in front of the kitchen staff because the furthest any of their discussion went was gossip amongst themselves. But in front of any of the family, he immediately returned to the routine that was expected of them.

So he wandered back out towards the servants hall so as not to raise suspicion in the eyes of Lady Grantham. When he noticed her heading back upstairs, he sauntered over to the kitchen once again, smirk ready to go. But he found himself foiled once again by of the look of pride on her face. So he stood just behind her and observed the cake.

"Do I get any?" was all he could manage by way of teasing.

She looked up, surprised. "Look, you, I'm very happy with the way this one turned out so I won't be taking any of your nonsense."

"Nonsense?" he replied innocently, "What on earth could you mean, milady? I've been nothing but supportive of your kitchen endeavours." She gave him a pointed look.

"I think you're appreciation of 'support' is different to mine, Branson," she said dryly, "because I wouldn't have said your response to my  _'kitchen endeavours'_ was at all supportive."

"Lady Sybil! I'm quite offended!" he scoffed.

"Watch me weep," her tone still dry.

"So you should," he held her eyes for a moment then looked back down at the cake, "So, how about it? Any for me?"

"No," she huffed, "It's for my mother. And besides, I don't think you deserve any. Not after all your teasing."

Tom put on his best apologetic pout. "Would it help if I said I was sorry?"

"If I believed that you were, I might consider it," Sybil laughed when his pout increased. Knowing he wasn't fooling her he swapped it for a smirk.

"Okay, I'm not sorry at all. I just like to see you blushing and flustered," he grinned when he saw that he had caused yet another blush. He picked up one of the berries she was putting on her cake and popped it in his mouth. Walking away backwards, he watched as Sybil regained her composure to stick her tongue out at him.

He nearly ran into Mr Carson, who told him to pick up the Dowager Countess and bring her here to be early for dinner. Conceding, he turned once more to wink at Sybil – dangerous with Mr Carson having only just turned away and still standing nearby – and see her blush before he disappeared. When he picked up the Countess, she commented on his cheery mood.

"Tis a fine day, milady. No reason to be gloomy." And many, many reasons to be in good spirits.


End file.
